Why am I starting to become facinated with Giblets? I hate his helmet hair and yet, I can't look away. I feel like I'm part of that Stanford prison experiment. He is my jailer and I? I am his prisoner, baby.*
Patrice. I can't...I just...I...I...no.
Magni. Your flight to Reykjavik is now boarding.
Ryan. He plays piano, he plays guitar, he writes 80's-esque rock songs (swoon!). He took that original song and he cuh-rushed it. Look out Dilana, it's ON!
Storm. I'm tired of the wide-legged squat, ensuing karate moves, and psycho eyes. But damn, I love you for making Dave your "bitch!"
{Did anyone catch the commercial for that new show The Class? Why do I feel like it's trying to be this generation's Thirtysomething? So watching it.}
Dilana. Not loving the baby sparrows attached to your eyelids, but the hair was rockin'. Song, not so much.
Toby. It's official. You have turned into Zayda.
Lukazzzzzzzzzzz. I thought the song was boring, but dig your whole black|white aesthetic. Can the band say something other than "Good job?" Oh wait. That's right. They can't.
*I know, I'm slapping myself right now. I need to keep reminding myself that he's "the guy who replaced the guy who replaced Slash in Guns N' Roses."
